Today she would have been 36. And that seems so, so old to me. Then I remember that I'm a year older than that and I feel weird telling people my age because who ever knew what being "middle-aged" feels like (except, of course, the women in our family live to their late 80's, so maybe I'm still 10 years away from middle aged).
And every year that I mark this day, I wonder what it would be like if she was still here. And then I wonder why she had to go. It's still lonely here without her. She has been suspiciously absent from my dreams. Maybe someone else needs her more than I do.
I still miss you, sister.
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